Okazaki
by MaidenOfImladris
Summary: Muraki discovers the missing pieces of his life and must deal with a very surprising truth about his past. Might develop into Yaoi? I haven't decided!
1. Daruma

The screams from the above kitchen blurred together with no discernable character. The heated words somehow boiled over individual form, covering them so completely; the people spouting them eventually disappeared. Muraki didn't see his brother, his mother, or his father anymore. He saw the jagged twists of eyebrows and the angry creases of smiles gone wrong. He didn't understand their quarrels, so he hid, hid so deep within the house that he went undiscovered for days.

The only presence in the unnaturally white haired boy's life was his grandfather. He was a kind, old man with a raging passion for science and medicine. It was the kind of science that wasn't based on right or wrong. Ethics and morals never touched the ideals that went into the makings of each project. They were evaluated on something greater than what any mortal could define. Perfection, systematic, organized, programmed, referenced… everything that controlled nature, controlled the will of this old man.

The dark echoes of the small house turned in the boy's stomach. Something was wrong. Something was always wrong. His mother's thin voice slipped through the cracks of the walls, so frightened and small.

The boy concentrated on the silence, predicting the stronger and heavier words of his father to thump like a muffled wave against the wall, smothering whatever argument his mother was making.

She choked against his tone, exhaling rapidly as the rising timbre and cadence wrapped around her throat. She gargled in defeat, begging for something to stop.

The boy didn't know what to do. He closed his eyes and tightly clutched the plump round doll to his small chest in hopes that its eyeless form would block back the devils from upstairs.

He promised the daurma sight if it were to turn his fortune and grant him silence for the night, but in his heart he wished it for the rest of his life. The sweeping beat beneath his chest roared and the will of the boy fluttered out in an earthly form. The brightness of the room brought the boys eyes tighter together as the creature tore through him. He sent it away with his mind, only wanting peace. True inner peace couldn't be achieved by vanquishing the being. He knew this, yet choose to ignore it, taking whatever outcome that was to be to gain his wish.

The swift change in atmosphere shoved the dark spirit from the room and unleashed a rolling pebble. The screams from upstairs collect in the rocks core, forming a solid boulder that returned quickly to the boy's heart along with the sucking shadows and spirits circling the basement.

Muraki gasped and was thrown forward by the spiritual force. His doll hit first, taking most of the impact and shattered against the basement floor. As the boy continued forward, a shard of clay found a home imbedded deeply into his right eye. Muraki clutched his face between his hands and screamed at the warm flow of blood seeping out onto the cold floor. Dark spirits, and the slipping of consciousness, aid in his inevitable fall from grace.

His feet were the first to feel the weightlessness of his mind. His thighs next, until even the tips of his fingers felt as if they were supported by a thin sheen support, levitating every bit of him into the nothingness of shadow. These spirits comforted him, whispering calms that he never received in his adolescent life. Even the ache that took his right eye was melding into an analgesic haven that suited the young life.

The dark, blood stained images that projected from the dark spirits, showcased their latest work, the murder of his parents. Muraki saw his brother from the spirits eye, showing the terrified boys face as his feral hand strayed from control. The blade rose, and with no hesitation, stabbed deeply into his father's chest. Muraki's body held an elated; sickening pleasure, as the tribulations of his relation was severed, setting him free.

The running trail of blood paralleled a separate river that poured from his mother, racing ahead, as it competed against the tile. The image disappeared as did the despair and pain the child held close to his darkening heart for the past 9 years.


	2. Ojiichan

The dull smell of sterile instruments and neatly cleaned sheets burned through the boys nose as his senses became keenly aware of their surroundings. His eye fluttered open to confirm with sight with what he smelt, a hospital.

No…no. A room.

The beep of machines was absent and the small area seemed familiar, not foreign and cold, as it should have been if he were in a facility. And above all else, his mutilated eye sent hot flashes of pain to every inch of the young life. Standard procedure would've plucked the pain away with various drugs and drips. But no tubes ran to the boy. Standard would've applied, had there been order to the room. Instruments were scattered on the back counters and the drip of the sink synchronized with the steady tick of the hanging clock on the back wall. The delicate woodcarvings in the timepiece were too personal, too particular to make this a random place.

The boy was thankful of the eye patch, least of all, to hide his wound. The emptiness he felt in the optical cave of his right side thwarted any hope of being able to see out of that eye again. With consciousness came thoughts in great numbers, swarming and collecting in the boys mind.

His soul began to twinge, taking on a familiar feeling as the shadows seeped out of the youth. His stolen eye became numb and the pain slowly vanished when the room faded to a calming darkness.

When the shadows parted Muraki could finally make out where he was. For a second, he was sure he could see through the damaged eye, even through the black sheen patch. Perhaps phantom sight, if there was such a thing. The faux sterile whiteness of the walls showed signs of definite age; corners peeling, shadowing stains where shelves and other installments used to be.

The room meant to be abandoned.

As Muraki too, should have been abandoned.

But there was something righteous about the cream walls and the steady clock on the wall. So much resentment, so much sadness seeped from the young boy, and in this room, he felt it would be the last time he felt such things.

The next thing he noticed brought a knowing smile to his face. The stale cigar scent that made the walls cream and not a true white filled his delayed senses.

"Grandpa…" the boy squeezed out of his damaged throat, and smiled.


	3. Alone

Day slipped away into night and wakefulness turned to fatigue, as the boy had nothing to eat, nothing to nourish him for the duration he was in his grandfathers private lab. The child's arms were lightly strapped but restrained non-the less to the stiff bed he rested upon.

Muraki couldn't tell how long he'd been there, if his parents had been found or if the world continued to exist beyond the familiar white walls. He let the shadows comfort him, as he had nowhere else to turn. The smile he first conjured from the ordeal quickly faded into complete helplessness. Even his most respected elder seemed to have abandoned him, and nothing hurt the child worse then being alone.

Calm whispers and hushed voices swirled around him. They were deciding, calculating voices that seemed to be conspiring some sort of intervention behind his back. Muraki tried to hear them; he strained against the silence of the room and concentrated on the thin wisps of tone that seemed to dissipate as soon as they were projected.

He too gave up on that, and let the droning hum of spirits collect around him.

A wooden thud parted the voices around him as they slipped away with the entrance of the said elder.

Muraki twisted his head to the left, straining to see from his confined position from the lack of full optical capacity.

A shaking wrinkled hand touched his forehead and pushed back a mass of silver hair.

"Dear boy… what you must've gone through." Muraki's eyes squeezed shut, gleeful in the company and projections of a brighter future flickering in his mind.

"Ojiichan!" the boy whimpered, pulling his arms lightly on the restraints as a silent plea to be freed.

"Not yet, son." There was an odd smile that crossed the old man's lips. It was smile of betrayal and fear, one that the boy hadn't completely processed, nor could understand if he did.

But the spirits knew and sent waves of danger to the youth, making him understand the ill intent the older doctor had towards his next of kin.

Muraki shuddered, and closed his eyes, letting the hums and voices clear his thoughts.

'What are you doing?' One said, not to him, but to another spirit. The indecision and conversation pushed through the boys mind, showing him evils that could bring fruit and wrongs that could produce happiness. All he had to do was will it, and it would be done.

'He knows…' 

Scattered tones and voices poured out until finally with a swift chant and falling charms, stopped all spiritual speech.

"Are they loud boy?" The grandfather asked, pushing the charm card closer to the child's chest.

"What are they?" Muraki whimpered, wishing their existence to be explained. The elder just laughed, cowering closer and closer to the small medical bed.

A knowing look sparkled behind the seasoned eyes, but he chose not to disclose anything more.


	4. Science

The barrier that was left on the boy's chest warded away the darkness, and strangely enough brought back a quiet fear in the boy's heart. The words seemed to comfort him and give him direction, choice, something in his youth, he never had.

The boy couldn't choose whether or not his parents fought, or choose the look his brother gave him into something the least bit loving. None of these things could be orchestrated or controlled. But the darkness, this thing that had come to him at the peak of his need seemed to be the only real thing grounding his hopes and dreams.

His will, seemed to take form.

Even if he couldn't comprehend it, it didn't matter. They choose for him based on simple thought.

Whatever pleased his heart, the shadows saw to it.

Even if it killed his parents.

Even if it too meant to harm his grandfather. At least he'd be free and able to create a life for himself.

His grandfather seemed to be two sides of a knife, kind and gentle one day, and devout in science and thought the next. Science, it seems, brought out an unsavory trait.

The elder would take to doing tests throughout the day, not caring if the boy screamed when they were conducted and the only comfort he held onto was the fact that his memories would be taken after the experiments were done.

But during it… he lived through hell.

Muraki knew very little about medicine. About science. He heard his grandfather's ramblings but they blended together like the pieces of a book that held no plot.

After the fifth night he wondered if the peaceful shadows would ever return. A chanted bracelet now replaced the charm cards and since it was implemented, not once did he feel their calming effects.

His grandfather explained some of the experiments. Not his, but others he ventured on along with his own. He talked at great length about the frailty of humans and how their race seemed to hold low ranks in midst of nature.

It wasn't even our bodies that seemed inefficient for him; it was our lack of purpose, our blatant waste that inhabited the earth for no visible purpose.

It was the will of his grandfather to create that purpose.

To make a worthy being that deserved the intake of oxygen and the life giving blood through righteous veins. Even the elder didn't know exactly how to create such a thing, but he had ideas and theories that were continually tested. He never intended to use flesh and blood, but the further he delved into it all, the more he wished this worthy being to be someone he could love.

That he could be proud of.

And Muraki, his only true grandson held that position.

The truth of his birth, he decided, was something the boy should never have to learn. The warm womb he developed in began with a single cold syringe, along with nutritional solution and special genes that mated with this experiment to set off the spark of creation, of life.

Yes, the grandfather decided, Muraki would never find out who his father really was.


End file.
